


Strung Up and Out

by Floris_Oren



Series: Sherlock's training a BDSM AU [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: "kidnapping", Alternate Universe, Bad Hudson, Bad John, Calculating Sherlock, Everyone is a bad guy, F/F, F/M, Held Prisoner, M/M, Multi, Mycroft and Sherlock fight the world, Protective Mycroft, SO bad Lestrade, Sherlock has a plan for everthing, Sherlock is a Brat, almost, because we need these AU's, give them to me, just everyone is a criminal, mentions of BDSM, mentions of deepthroating, nothing on screen, this is a test run
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 00:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Floris_Oren/pseuds/Floris_Oren
Summary: “You realize that this is one mission I won’t be able to help you with.” Mycroft put the file he’d been reading to the side. Sherlock sat in a chair not far from the desk in the rather small office.“I know, but do you want more people going missing?” he asked.“Of course not, they’re citizens of the crown, we must protect them to an extent.”“Than don’t worry about me. As soon as I find the ring leader….”aka - Sherlock goes undercover to take down a sex/slavery ring; enter an uncounted Variable, John Watson and Sherlock finds more than he bargained for; is it entirely unwelcome?





	Strung Up and Out

**Author's Note:**

> I'm stressed, these types of AU's help me.

**_Strung Up and Out_ **

**_Summary - Sherlock goes undercover to take down a sex/slavery ring; enter an uncounted Variable, John Watson and Sherlock finds more than he bargained for; is it entirely unwelcome?_ **

 

**_~*~*~_ **

 

_ “You realize that this is one mission I won’t be able to help you with.” Mycroft put the file he’d been reading to the side. Sherlock sat in a chair not far from the desk in the rather small office.  _

 

_ “I know, but do you want more people going missing?” he asked.  _

 

_ “Of course not, they’re citizens of the crown, we must protect them to an extent.”  _

 

_ “Than don’t worry about me. As soon as I find the ring leader….” _

 

_ “You are only going for the information, Sherlock, I won’t have you be more of a victim than you already plan to be…”  _

 

_ “Oh due shive off, Mycroft.”  _

 

_ “Be careful, Brother mine.”  _

 

_ “Careful is my middle name.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. He rises and makes for the door, just before he can close it behind Mycroft spoke. _

 

_ “You would do well to remember that.” is Mycroft’s parting shot.  _

 

_ ~*~*~ _

 

Day ten - 

 

~*~*~

 

Sherlock takes a deep breath; his eyes are closed and he’s acting as if he is asleep. Why everyone is so concerned about his well being in such a situation is beyond him. Yet, he has an old woman poking him to eat. A Doctor who will drug him if he doesn’t go to sleep. And a younger woman who is always taking his vitals. 

 

They’re also training him. Which the Doctor and an older gentlemen team up; Sherlock proved himself to be rather troublesome. It was a calculated risk. If he came off as too docile people would ask questions. He might even be sold to the wrong person. He needs to be on the hard end of things. Make them distrust him at least a little bit. 

 

He hears the click of the light. His cell is bright and he keeps his eyes closed a moment longer before trying to get his bearings when he opens them; he has his back to the door, he needs one moment of privacy before he puts his game face on. And on queue, the door opens. He doesn’t dare move. He hears the breakfast tray being laid on the floor next to him. The footsteps are heavy. Usually the elderly woman brings it to him. 

 

She is armed with a taser and will shock him if he moves; so he doesn’t and he can only assume that this person does too. He waits as the footsteps back away from him. He hates the idea of eating. Thank goodness they only do it once a day; he doesn’t know what he’d do if they insisted on three meals a day. Though, he does miss playing the violin. 

 

Once he hears the footsteps leave and the door close and click itself locked; he turns and sits up. His cell has a single mattress a sink,a toilet, and a shower head. Nothing to grip though. The walls are smooth and is cleaned twice a week. There’s a drain in the middle of the floor, but Sherlock knows a stuck up toilet will get him nowhere. 

 

Everything has to be carefully thought out; every step re-visited before he does anything. He cringes at the sight of the food. Porridge. It’s not the dish he hates. He just hates the thought of eating. But he picks up the bowl. There’s a lot in it this morning. There isn’t a spoon. The tin bowl is accompanied by a tin mug of milk. Sherlock drinks the sludge down as fast as he can. Not because he needs it, but because he’s refused breakfast a few times and it always ends in his ass getting walloped by a wooden paddle. And he’d rather not do that today. 

 

Though, he had to establish some type of rebellion early on. Food is one of those things; they like to offer him snacks if he’s been good but he always refuses. They haven’t found that thing to make him obey them. He doesn’t like anything. And he’s so used to being ignored that it doesn’t phase him when they try it. 

 

He finishes the porridge and put the bowl on the tray, then drinks the milk. After a slot in the door opens and Sherlock brings his tray and slides it through to whomever is on the other side. 

 

He then washes under the showerhead. The water is always cold. He does this quickly. He has nothing to dry off with. The slot opens and a toothbrush and a tube of paste is put through. He brushes his teeth and returns these items. 

 

Then he goes back to his mattress to dry off; he shivers a bit in the corner as he awaits the next part of the game; today there might be a lesson. They had skipped three days in a row. Which lead to questions. Of course, he could assume he wasn’t the only victim being ‘trained’. There could be a group of victims being trained and they took turns. Though, would they leave a newbie to their own like this? Unfathomable. Newbies tended to be nervous and would ruin things if their solitary confinement went on too long. 

 

No. There was….a purpose. 

 

Human contact. 

 

Sherlock kept the realization off his face; he needed to look bored out of his skull. Which he was, to a level. He couldn’t give anything away, not in the way his body moved or in his facial expressions. Cameras were watching his every move and he knew someone would be watching on the other side. 

 

They were waiting for him to crack; to become lonely and beg for someone to come to him. But why? Why? Did they assume that all humans needed contact? Sherlock didn’t need it. He’d been alone since he’d been shoved out to boarding school. No one wanted to be his friend. No one cared. He’d went from there to university and a bad drug habit. 

 

And even when he decided to become a Consulting Detective, he still had no one. He even skipped out on the last Family Christmas gathering. Not that anyone cared. Really. His parents were a bit not all together there emotionally. Probably why they never understood he or Mycroft. Or their genius. 

 

Right. So, human contact. They were trying to break him and make him dependant on them. Alright, he could lower himself to such base desires if they needed him too. But how? He could let it go for another day. He didn’t want to talk to anyone anyway. Well, to be truthful, he didn’t want to be gagged anymore. 

 

With human contact came things; harnesses and rope. Gags and deep throating. They’d just started that training before this solitary spell. And John, nor….what’s his name????... were easy to take. His throat had been sore for the first day and a half after they left him alone. 

 

But it was better than having to deal with all the toys and the demands. They were seeing how much he could take; they’d use it as a punishment next time he acted up. Indeed. They were seeing how long he could go and knowing himself as he did, it could be fore a very long time. 

 

“Please…” he croaked to the room. His voice had been unused since the deepthroating lessons. “Please...I…..need someone.” he tried to make his voice quiet, fill it with apprehension he did not feel in the slightest. 

 

Then he waited. If they mistook that, than they were definitely the lacky’s and not the big fish Sherlock was after. 

  
  



End file.
